


5 times Beth takes Rio’s hand (and 1 time she doesn’t)

by civillove



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23283058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: As the title suggests.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 22
Kudos: 144





	5 times Beth takes Rio’s hand (and 1 time she doesn’t)

This fic is blamed entirely on this [image](https://blainesebastian.tumblr.com/post/613347603528204288) and [this ask](https://blainesebastian.tumblr.com/post/613347728791060480/ok-but-write-a-fic-of-brio-holding-hands-mccall) (and the conversation within the notes).

\--

Beth knows that communication isn’t always just the words that come out of a person’s mouth. She knows that, and yet, it doesn’t really mean anything until she meets someone like Rio. He’s the most tactile person she’s ever met, says things with his fingers that his lips can’t form syllables around.

It’s not necessarily something he does on purpose, Rio likes to keep things close to his chest, especially his emotions. So when his hands start stimming, when his fingers drum on a table, wrap around the base of his gun, run over the bottom half of his face, tuck her hair behind her ear—he’s saying things, he’s talking to her. She doesn’t notice it at first but when she does, it crashes around her like an avalanche, sensory input overloaded with how much he manipulates his touch.

She remembers noticing his hands when she first met him, how at home they looked holding his golden gun, his rings reflecting against the light. Beth thinks about how much it’s changed, not into a simple thing but because she’s gotten to know him, it’s like flushing out his layers. His touch is so much more than it seems, the veins on his hands tell a story like lines in a book.

Those hands, so capable of death and destruction, are the very things that have brought her back to life.

It feels ironic, feels like it shouldn’t be possible, to house such a conundrum—but then again, that’s exactly who Rio is. The same person who cleans his gun in front of her is the same person who picks up his son on the soccer field.

She tries not to think about how perfectly her own hand fits against his, how their palms map out, the way his ring finger always dips to slide against her knuckles. His touch isn’t smooth, always calloused, always rough and warm at the same time. Beth doesn’t think about what’s made them that way.

“Aight, what do you think?”

She shakes thoughts from her head, looking down at the table as Rio claps his hands together. There’s flour sticking to his skin and pillowing into the air like fresh snow. Beth tilts her head a little, resting her chin as her elbow sits on the counter in his kitchen.

“You know it’s…lopsided, right?”

He scrunches his nose, opening his mouth for a moment. “Nah, it’s…” Then he pauses, moving to where she’s sitting so he can check from her angle. “Well, shit.”

She smirks, covering her lips with her fingertips a moment. “I mean, as far as lattice apple pies go…it’s not terrible.”

Rio stares at the pie for a long moment before chewing on the inside of his cheek—he’s debating what to do with it, she can see the thought process play out over his face. Beth rolls her sleeves up, reaching to draw the pie closer and feel the lattice work of the crust, careful not to disturb the filling underneath.

“You didn’t roll the dough out enough, that’s why it feels all bumpy. See?” She takes his hand, smooths his finger against the side that she’s referring to.

He clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth, “Where was this brilliant direction a half hour ago?”

She rolls her eyes and tries to pull her wrist back but he’s turned his hand so he’s capturing her, fingers wrapped around, “Oh please, you can’t even try to put this on me.”

Rio nods solemnly, his other hand moving before she can stop him, “Can put somethin’ else on you though.” And swipes flour right across her cheek.

She knows exactly what’s going to happen when a gasp leaves her lips and she goes to retaliate—and lets him gather her up in his arms, surrendering.

\--

She knows that physical touch is one of the five love languages, but when they were writing about it, Beth doesn’t think they considered hands like theirs.

This can’t be what they’re talking about.

\--

  1. **“And like roses in his hands, death blooms.”  
\- Amie Kaufman / Jay Kristoff**



It’s late when Rio knocks on her door and the only reason she hears him in the first place is because she fell asleep on the couch. She pulls herself up with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and yawns, trying to blink sleep from her eyes as she wanders to the back door on autopilot.

Rio stands there, ironically a bit impatiently, as she opens the door. He pulls the beanie down over one of his ears and steps through the doorway without an invitation, brushing against her as she struggles to wake up.

“’Bout time.”

She frowns, glancing at the glaring time above her oven. “You have any idea what time it is?”

“Late.” He mumbles before setting the black duffle on her kitchen counter.

“You keep showing up at this hour all dressed in black, the neighborhood watch is gonna start putting up flyers.”

Rio smiles, all teeth, “That’s cute. You gonna make those?”

She rolls her eyes before tugging at the zipper of the bag in front of her, “Is this…?” She trails off, eyeing the money inside that greets her. Green rubberbands.

“Told you I’d take care of it.”

Beth rubs the back of her neck, the blanket sliding off of her one shoulder. The movement of his hands catch her eye as he attempts to put both in his jean jacket pockets, a flash of burnt scarlet.

She licks her lips, taking her time to zip the bag back up before giving him her full attention. “At what cost?”

There’s an exact moment where his shoulders tense, drawing a straight line down his spine as he creates a wall between the both of them, attempting to keep her out. He should know better by now. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Really not your concern.”

She sighs, “You’re standing in _my_ kitchen at four in the morning with bloody knuckles. You made it my concern.”

Beth moves quickly to the other side of the island table, reaching under the sink for a First-Aid kit that she keeps there. Mostly for her kids but lately it’s been for her partner who can’t seem to keep blood off his hands. She puts it on the counter and digs through it for antiseptic wipes and cotton balls.

“Lemme see.”

He rolls his eyes but his hands leave his pockets so she considers that progress. She tears the antiseptic wipe open with her teeth, waiting patiently for him to make a decision. Beth’s learned it’s easier for him to come to her; she’d reach out and grab his wrist but he’d just yank free and leave.

He’s done that before, almost petulantly, slamming the door closed behind him.

Rio holds her gaze for a long few moments before he takes a step forward and lifts his one hand up. Her eyes flutter down to the dried blood that’s caked on his right hand, underneath the rings he wears so much. His veins travel up his wrist, prominent, telling a story that she doesn’t want to read.

So she doesn’t.

She takes his hand and draws it closer, slipping it under the sink. She turns warm water on and washes him clean, the red becoming a brighter cherry as it washes off and slips down the drain.

“It’s not mine,” He says after a moment before motioning towards the antiseptic wipe. “You don’t need that.”

Beth pauses, putting the wipe down before she dips her chin, focusing on the task at hand instead of the words coming out of his mouth. She takes his rings off and cleans them a little more thoroughly, drying them with a paper towel.

“What did you do?” She asks after a moment, unable to help herself.

His eyes flutter across hers, stilling her hands so he can take his rings from her and slips them back on his fingers. “I took care of it.” He repeats, a little slower this time so that the words sink into her pores.

Rio brushes his thumb over her jawline before glancing at the antiseptic wipe one more time and leaves her kitchen.

\--

  1. **“To hold Infinity in the palm of your hand. And Eternity in an hour.”  
\- William Blake**



They’ve been here before even though this isn’t the same bar.

Rio crowds her against the sink and lifts her up without words being spoken, there’s more care to his touch this time. His hands are rough but his actions are thoughtful, a contradiction that plays over and over in her mind a few times before his lips are on her neck.

He drags her, isn’t gentle, until he’s pinned her against the wall. He never treats her like she’s made of something broken, like she’s jagged pieces that need taped or glued together. Too many drinks and talking about business with his hand on her thigh has led them to this place that feels familiar but isn’t at the same time.

They didn’t kiss the first time. He never tried and Beth didn’t want to.

Now it’s like they can’t gather enough oxygen in-between their movements, a clash of teeth and tongue, moans slipping into one another’s mouths. He nearly tears her dress trying to hike it up, picking her body up easily and supporting her weight with his arms and one of his legs.

“Easy, this has buttons.” She protests breathily, trying to help him with the fabric.

“And who’s fault is that? Like you knew we wouldn’t end up here.” He says back, groaning as her hand brushes against the outline of his cock when she tries to free the material from being trapped under one of her thighs.

Rio hikes her underwear down and they rest along her ankles, the sound of metal clinging as he undoes his belt. She leans forward and stills his movements when her teeth drag his lower lip into her mouth. His hips rock into her and the heat at the center of her core is nearly enough to set them both on fire.

When he finally slides into her, Beth tips her head back and practically slams it against the wall. She makes a hissing noise that Rio most definitely _chuckles_ at and draws her closer so she doesn’t do it again on accident. She glares at him, their noses brushing but he tips his chin up so that they kiss before she can say anything.

One of her arms rest along his shoulders, clawing at the fabric of his black jean jacket, trying to anchor herself to him as he moves. He does this too seamlessly; holding her, moving, kissing, supporting, all at the same time. Never once does his thighs shake or does he complain from an uncomfortable position.

Meanwhile, she feels like she’s breaking into smaller fragments.

Her other hand reaches, not sure what to do with it, trying to find something, anything, to steady and ground herself. There’s nothing and then suddenly—

Rio’s touch finds hers, pushing it back against the wall, his fingers curling until they’re laced together. The metal of his rings digs into the sensitive skin between her fingers but the _bite_ almost adds to the pleasure.

She grabs onto him tightly, holding, squeezing his hand against hers as the pace quickens.

They fall apart and nearly tumble into the sink, to which she can’t stop laughing about, but he never lets go of her hand.

\--

  1. **“But you can’t have two worlds in your hands and choose emptiness.”  
\- Mary Szybist**



As much as she enjoys having Rio wrapped around her when they’re in bed, sometimes she prefers the moments where she can feel the weight of him beside her but they’re not touching. It’s oddly comforting, the heat of his skin so close to hers under the covers as they’re falling asleep.

She feels like it says a lot about their relationship, about who they are, the space in-between their bodies like words they never say.

It’s thundering outside, flashes of lightening sometimes slipping underneath the shades on the window. Beth loves storms, she loves falling asleep to them, the pitter patter of rain against the roof lulling her out of the waking world. She feels him shift in bed and knows what he’s doing before he does it; sometimes he reaches for her under the covers.

He doesn’t touch her, his hand waits between them, an invitation that she often takes.

Beth slips her hand into his, traces the tree of veins on the underside of his wrist with her thumb. Rio lets out a slow sigh into the space, thunder cracking like wood breaking outside and she feels her eyes slip closed as she concentrates on the sound of him breathing.

He turns in bed to face her but doesn’t inch any closer, the only point of contact is their hands, Beth playing with a few of the rings he has on. She finds it odd he wears them to bed when she was always taught to take her jewelry off before sleeping. She has this weird reoccurring dream where she sleeps in a necklace and the chain somehow twists to choke her in the middle of the night.

She tells him that one morning and he laughs for a minute straight, that kinda head tilting back laugh coming directly from his chest that she wishes she could bottle. For a long few moments all she does is watch him, notice the crinkle in the corner of his eyes and the dimple on his one cheek.

_“You think my rings are gonna somehow choke me?”_

She remembers shoving him so hard that he practically tumbles into his nightstand, to which he only closes the space between them and kisses her.

Now Beth twists a ring on his pointer finger, dragging her thumb until it brushes along his ring finger. It’s empty and she rolls her touch around his knuckle, considering a question that’s lying under her tongue.

“When did you stop wearing a wedding ring?” His hand stills for a second, gone as soon as it appears as if he doesn’t want her to notice the change in mood.

It’s not a question she would usually ask, but under the cloak of darkness, the storm, under the covers, she feels like she can. Like he won’t put up as much of a fight, maybe let her in for once without making her slither through the cracks in his walls. She’s curious…because she married her high school boyfriend and she can’t remember a time when she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

Until recently.

And it’s still weird; she leaves the house sometimes with her keys, wallet, phone, purse and feels likes she’s missing something. She’ll sit in her van for ten minutes until she realizes it’s just because she’s not wearing her wedding ring.

“Who said I was married?”

She sighs softly, drawing his hand closer until she can place it on her hip. Rio’s fingers curl into her skin, pulling her closer. Honestly that’s more of a response than she thought she was going to get.

He’s touching his own rings now, she can feel him against her body, tucking his fingers into his palm so he can run his thumb over the flash of metal on his pointer finger. He’s quiet for a long time and then goes still, at one point she thinks he’s asleep until she hears an intake of breath,

“She left me the first night I came home with blood on my hands,” The admittance is so sudden and so loud in the quiet room that she thinks it might be a dream, something she made up in-between being awake and falling asleep.

But the longer she sits there, the more she realizes that he did in fact say that out loud. A wave of emotion clutches her entire body as she pictures it in her mind’s eye; how many times Rio’s come to her doorstep covered in blood and she’s never turned him away.

The fact that it only took Rio’s ex _once—_ she shakes her head, wanting to touch him, cup his cheek, but she doesn’t.

“I let her go,” He clears his throat, “You don’t need to feel sorry for me, ma, I don’t regret it.”

Beth finds that very hard to believe but she settles for picking the hand up that’s on her thigh and kissing his knuckles as thunder shakes the room.

\--

  1. **“The calluses on your hand tell all your secrets. Your teeth give you away.”  
\- Chuck Palahniuk**



There’s a duality to Rio that lives inside of him and no matter how many times she thinks about the fact that _everyone_ has so many sides to them, she finds herself comparing his specifically. She thinks it’s the line of work they’re wrapped up in together, how it creates a fission that’s capable of splitting you in two.

Beth knows that she’s changed, that she’s not the same person who started washing cash for him, that they’re partners now and that _means_ something but…

Rio’s been in this a lot longer than she has, the chasm that separates his sternum is a lot deeper than hers, filled with blood and regret. And yet sometimes she forgets, because the same hands that count cold cash are the same that pick up a soccer ball to toss to Marcus.

\--

In two separate instances, she falls.

\--

Beth turns a corner too fast but, to her credit, there is a bit of gunfire distracting her movements. Rio is in front of her, leading them out of the warehouse, turning every so often to fire his gun to give them time. She rushes in-between firing, making it into the parking lot and around a set of cars and of course they had to park the _farthest_ away.

She bites her tongue on saying ‘told you so’, for now, and skirts around a motorcycle. Her foot hits a patch of loose gravel and her ankle gives. She goes down, hard and at an awkward angle, her elbows, knees and palms of her hands pinching as stone kisses her skin. Rio digs his heels into the pavement, pausing, his attention on the warehouse as he holds his gun—the fire has ceased and she distantly wonders if he took care of it like he usually does.

“You good?” He asks, finally stealing a look at her.

“Told you we should have parked closer.”

“You’re blamin’ your lack of coordination on me?” He smirks and switches his gun into his left hand so he can reach out to her with his right.

Beth takes his hand, his skin _heated_ from the metal of his gun, softening the callouses she often finds there. He pulls her up from the ground, his thumb brushing over the outside of her wrist as he puts his weapon into the waistband of his jeans.

She winces, looking down at her jeans to see if she’s bleeding at all through the fabric. Rio follows her gaze before glancing up at the warehouse, pulling her towards his car, “Come on, I’ll give you a once over when we get to the apartment.”

She smirks, rubbing the sore spot on her elbow as she moves to her side of the car. “You just want me to take off my clothes.”

Rio smiles at her over the hood, “Business as usual, then.”

\--

She’s never been one for sports but Beth knows, as a mother, she has to run in the dirt every so often and kick a soccer ball and pretend she has the coordination for this. It’s a rare time but she finds herself actually thankful for Dean because he was never too tired to take the kids to the park and play hands-on games with them. He was a good father, still is, and at _least_ she can say that about him.

Now that the kids are a little older, they ask her less to run around and focus on their friends that they have play dates with or meet at the park.

Marcus, however, _always_ asks her to kick the soccer ball around and she’s learned to wear comfortable clothes to the park in case him and Rio are there at the same time she is. Except at this point she should really know better because those boys are nothing if not competitive and it ends up being a game rather than a leisurely kicking of the soccer ball back and forth.

Rio is standing in-between two close together trees, acting like a goalie while her and Marcus try and get the ball from one another. His son knows exactly when she’s taking it easy on him and has told her a few times not to but, lucky for him, she’s not the best at foot-eye coordination anyways.

She plays honestly and terribly, which always makes Rio laugh.

Beth currently has the ball but she makes the mistake of looking up at Rio, who’s leaning forward with his hands on his knees, watching her, moving his mouth in a way she knows is only to distract her. He’s more amused than anything else, mostly because he knows that Marcus will no doubt get the ball from her at some point before she’s able to score.

Especially since Beth is too busy looking at Rio than where she’s going—the toe of her foot catches in a root from a tree above the ground and she goes sprawling, a small squeaking noise leaving her lips as she tumbles into the grass.

Marcus _steals_ the ball from her and makes a goal, to which Rio laughs and picks his son up over his shoulder. “You know that’s kinda cheatin’, right?” He asks his son as they walk over to her.

Beth turns to lie on her back for a few moments, embarrassment bright red on her cheeks more than anything else. She sits up and feels her ankle, frowning a moment as a sting works its way up her leg. Definitely a twist then.

“Nah, that’s fair and square!” Marcus protests as Rio sets him down, crouching in front of Beth with a smirk on the corners of his mouth.

“You gonna live, mama?” He asks, his hand touching her calf.

She huffs, making her bangs flutter against her forehead. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just twisted, I think.”

He hums before looking over his shoulder at his son, “Go get my bag for me, pop, yeah?” Rio watches him run towards the bench where they left their stuff before he gives his attention back to Beth, standing to his full height. “You know an injury is not gonna stop him from wantin’ you to play, right?”

She smiles a little, rubbing at the sore spot on her ankle. “Takes after his father, hm?”

He shrugs his one shoulder, reaching his hand down for her, “I mean I just don’t teach quitters; you should know somethin’ about that.”

Beth lets him pull her off the ground, her balance thrown a little as she tries to stand on her hurt ankle. She tumbles a little into his chest, Rio holding her still, his arm slipping around her waist.

“ _Ouch,”_ She frowns and gathers his t-shirt into her hand, pulling just a little because her leg goes out from under her. She nearly takes him down with her.

“I got you,” He mumbles, Marcus running up with his bag and already pulling an ice pack out.

“We can take a break, Ms. Beth.” He says to her as he hands his dad the ice pack. He cracks it with his fingers and shakes the bag so it starts to cool. “Then we can play another round.”

Beth gives him a weak smile and all Rio does is smirk.

\--

In two separate instances, he offers her his hand. She always seems to take it, which just makes her wonder if there will ever be a day when she won’t.

\--

  1. **“Eyes of a poet, hands of a killer. Who the hell are you?”  
\- Alexandra Bracken**



It’s rare that they find moments where they have to hide instead of run. She knows she’s eventually going to have to hear about it because this was her idea, her plan. Their visions of handling business are sometimes so different she wonders how they work together at all. Rio’s very much ‘shoot first and ask questions’ later when he gets even the _hint_ that someone might be working an angle on them. She proposes a suggestion where they snoop instead, try to figure it out without murdering anyone.

It’s very much a page out of her book, one that Rio’s regretting as they rush into a storage closet in the office they’re digging through.

“Bad idea.” He hisses, forcing them into the small space and barely getting the door closed.

Beth rolls her eyes, stepping on something that makes a _cracking_ noise and Rio grabs her wrist to keep her from moving any further. “I shoulda known that when I caught you breakin’ into my apartment that this plan wouldn’t go very well.”

She glares at him in the dark, can’t make him out, “Of course you’re still holding that against me. Not everything needs to be handled with your gun, you know.”

He huffs out a light sound, something caught between frustration and amusement, “And some things can’t be handled without it.”

Sounds filter into the office that they were in, the light switching on and spilling underneath the door. It doesn’t help make the closet any easier to see in and she attempts to lean back to relax herself, trying not to picture the walls closing in on them. The space is small, Rio’s body caught right up against her. This all seemed like a good idea at the time—they weren’t sure whether this guy they were working with was going to flip on them, if he was already hosting other deals with the rubber-banded money _they_ were giving him.

He kept orderly notes and transactions, they knew that from the last meeting they had with him—so Beth suggested they actually take a look at what he was writing.

Which was fine until he unexpectedly showed up, disrupting their search. Her heart begins hammering in her chest, hands shaking as she tries to force her hearing through the door; God, what if this idea gets them killed?

Beth doesn’t realize her breathing is labored before Rio’s hand comes down on her mouth, almost jolting her in surprise. He leans forward, _shhing_ against the shell of her ear. “Relax,” He whispers, “Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out the same way.”

He keeps his hand there until she does what she’s told a few times, his fingers moving to rest on her collarbone. His thumb rubs circles there, his other hand resting on her hip as noises clatter around the office, threatening to expose them.

As aggravated as Rio is, his touch is incredibly gentle. She can’t see him but she can picture the calmness in his eyes, the way it settles over her like a blanket when their gazes are held. Beth swallows, closing her own for a moment to concentrate.

She feels safe with him, which is probably her first mistake. Sometimes like this she can fool herself in thinking about the type of man Rio is.

The man in the office makes a phone call, his voice rumbling as he steps closer to the closet, Rio tensing. She can feel the shift in his demeanor, his one hand leaving her hip as it reaches for the gun in his waistband. Beth moves quickly, her hand closing over his—

“Don’t.” She whispers, something only he can hear.

His fingers tense and they wait—long, pregnant pauses, until the call is ended and the light is turned off. They hear the office door close and Beth bites down on her lower lip hard enough to bleed.

Rio takes a step back from her, his hand on the doorknob. He turns it slowly and cracks it open, a breath of relief leaving her lungs when she sees the office empty. “Let’s go, forget the damn book.”

He reaches back for her hand and tugs her out of the closet, not letting her go until they’re back in his car. He leans his head against the headrest, fingers tapping on his thigh before he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

Beth’s quiet for a long few moments, trying to get her heartbeat to return to normal. “What are you going to do?”

The muscle in Rio’s jaw clenches and he only glances at her once before returning his eyes to the road. “What I usually do; you’d be surprised how hard it is to lie with the right pressure points.”

His voice is calm and his hands are still.

No, she knows exactly what kind of man Rio is. And she stays anyways.

\--

**+1. “A man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he’s still left with his hands.”  
\- Richard Siken**

For some reason, as long as she’s worked with Rio, she never pictures them here. Her hand shakes as she drags her thumb over her home screen, turning her flashlight on. She shines it towards Rio, who’s digging with a shovel. There’s a mist surrounding them in the old graveyard, which almost feels comical, out of place—or maybe _they’re_ the ones out of place. If she concentrates on it long enough, she’s able to disassociate, just a little,

“You wanted to be a part of this, right?” Until Rio drags her back into the present. He turns and looks at her over his shoulder, leaning against his shovel, a larger black duffle at their feet. “You don’t get to pick n’ choose what you want to do. Come on.”

Beth swallows down a thickness in her throat and steels herself, taking a step into the hole that Rio is digging up. She uses her shovel and starts helping, handing him her phone so they have light to work with.

“I think that’s enough,” She says after a few minutes and he shakes his head, glancing between the duffle and the hole.

“Nah, need to go deeper.”

She closes her eyes, a cold sweat kissing the back of her neck, “Rio—” She warns because she’s starting to feel nauseous.

She knows that this is part of what he does, the other half of the job that she tries to ignore, but she can’t handle it—she can’t _justify_ the body, in pieces, in that bag that they still have to stick into the ground.

Rio takes a step forward and grabs her wrists, forces a stronger hold onto her shovel and waits, fingers digging into her skin. The sting of his touch is what flutters her gaze back up to his,

“When I said I was gonna teach you, I meant about _all_ of it. You don’t get to sit this out.”

Beth pries her hands out of his, taking a step back and nearly tumbling over the bag. She glances down at it, side-steps, and begins digging again until her hands feel numb. When he thinks it’s enough, he puts his arm out to stop her and shuffles the dirt to the side a little with his boot.

He motions to the bag and she throws the shovel down, running the palms of her hands along the thighs of her jeans. “Who is it?”

He sighs, glancing around to make sure that they’re still alone. Aviles is by the car a few feet away; watching, waiting. She can tell he doesn’t want to answer her, because it shouldn’t matter who it is—but he can’t have this both ways. He can’t want her to be involved and then not tell her all the details.

“Office guy,” Rio says, almost like a challenge, like he’s waiting for her to argue with him. She wants to say something but she’s afraid if she opens her mouth, she’ll vomit into the hole they’ve just dug.

He takes a step towards her and grabs the bag when she won’t. “How many chances you wanna give people, Elizabeth?”

Beth shakes her head as he zips open the bag, quickly looking away when he begins to take _pieces_ of a man out to bury. She looks back at the car, swallowing bile in her throat as Aviles crosses his arms over his chest.

“Why don’t you get Aviles to help you?” She chokes out, voice betraying how disgusted she feels. She coughs, covering her mouth with her hand so she doesn’t gag.

Rio sighs, moving quickly since he’s doing everything himself. He then climbs out of the hole and takes the shovel to start covering the space up, “Aviles may work for me, but I get my own hands dirty.”

Her gaze jerks to his like a rubberband snapping; how can he _say_ that and yet…and yet he’s got her out here with him, hands using a shovel, dirt underneath her fingernails. He looks up at her, pausing his administrations and resting his chin on his hands atop the shovel.

“Don’t you forget that,” He pulls one hand free and shows it to her, curls his fingers into the palm of his hand, ring reflecting the light of the moon very briefly, “Your hands ain’t clean either, darlin’. You’re no better than me.”

The words hit directly in the center of her chest because as much as she wants to deny it, as much as she wants to put as much space and confidence within their differences, she knows he’s right. She’s no better than him; one soul recognizing another.

Their hands fit perfectly together because they’re the same.

They carry the supplies back to the car, shovels going into the trunk. When Rio goes to take the bag she’s carrying, she pulls back before their hands are allowed to touch.

\--

Later, they’ll shower off the filth together and Rio glides his fingers through her hair to work in shampoo. His touch is brief until Beth leans back against his chest, her hand finding his and creating a lattice work of their fingers. She can feel his chin dip down until he’s brushing his lips over her collarbone.

In moments like these, she relinquishes to the fact that physical contact _is_ one of the five love languages, and maybe they were writing about hands like theirs. Because she’s able to feel his touch long after it’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> formatting is a nightmare. why did it only center the bottom quote i'm glarin' AO3.   
> thanks so much for reading! appreciate any kudos or comments you might leave :) i'm over at blainesebastian.tumblr.com


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